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"They eloped."
Two words.
Spoken softly, yet they struck the woman like a thunderclap.
She stood in the narrow, shadowed alley...still as a statue—her black hood drawn low, casting her face in darkness. Her green velvet gown, once rich in hue, was now dulled by mud and blood, the hem soaked from the streets.
The messenger before her trembled.
"Raise your head, Matthew," she said, voice like silk pulled over steel.
He obeyed, lifting his face though fear clouded his eyes.
She drew back her hood slowly. Long golden hair cascaded down, and emerald eyes, sharp and unreadable, locked onto his.
He began to weep.
But the tears turned red.
Blood burst from his nose, his ears. His veins darkened, twisting beneath his skin like ink in water. He collapsed, limbs convulsing briefly...then,
silence.
His body vanished into thin air.
The woman did not blink.
Her expression never changed.
She turned and disappeared into the dark, leaving behind no trace of life...or death.
⸻
Year 1814
"Eloise!"
The warning came too late.
The carriage hurtled down the cobbled road, its wheels screeching as horses neighed. Eloise barely had time to throw herself aside, landing hard in the dust. Her heart galloped as fast as the horses.
Heather sprinted to her, breathless. "Are you mad? That could've killed you!"
But Eloise, lying flat on the roadside, only smiled up at the sky.
"The sun is out," she murmured, as if she hadn't just stared down death. "Such a beautiful afternoon."
Heather stared. "A beautiful afternoon? After nearly being crushed?!"
Eloise sat up, brushing dirt from her skirts. "Come on. Let's get back before Mr. Eddie removes our heads from our necks."
She strode ahead, unconcerned. Heather sighed and followed, muttering, "You're losing your mind..."
⸻
"So the king is marrying again?" Eloise asked as they walked.
Heather wrinkled her nose. "Again? He already has two wives...and a small army of concubines."
"He's far too old to be chasing veils and vows," Eloise replied with a smirk, smoothing a lock of black hair behind her ear.
Heather glanced around nervously. "Don't speak too freely, Elo. Someone could be listening."
Eloise's black eyes scanned the quiet road, as if daring someone to overhear. "It's true, though. Every bride he takes is just another pawn. Their fathers are his allies...he marries for the throne, not for love."
Heather said nothing. Her sister's sharp tongue always made her uneasy, especially when they had so little power to defend themselves.
They were not noble. They were not welcome.
Just two orphaned girls living in their aunt's grand mansion, turned into glorified housemaids after losing their parents to the plague.
⸻
"Mr. Eddie," Eloise called lightly as they entered through the servants' path, "any trouble in paradise?"
The butler turned on them, frowning. "Where have you girls been?"
Eloise smiled. "We stopped by Madam Lilou's, as instructed."
His eyes narrowed. "Get to the kitchen. Now. There's a guest here...someone important."
The sisters exchanged glances, then slipped off without another word.
⸻
"I swear," Heather whispered, "one day a prince will come and carry me out of this place."
Eloise gave her a half-smile. "And then what? He'll feed you grapes on golden spoons?"
"Maybe," Heather grinned softly. "Anything but this life."
But the moment was interrupted by one of the kitchen maids shoving a tea tray into Heather's hands.
"Serve this to the guest," the girl said sharply.
Eloise caught the way her sister's shoulders tensed. She stepped forward.
"I'll take it," she offered, voice calm but firm.
The maid sneered. "Of course. At least you know your place...unlike your sister who dreams too high."
Heather lowered her gaze, cheeks flushed.
"What is her place?" Eloise said coolly. "At least she dreams. That's more than I can say for the rest of you."
Before the maid could respond, a voice snapped from the doorway.
"What's going on here?"
Mr. Eddie.
"Just delivering tea, sir," Eloise answered quickly.
He nodded slowly. "Then do it. The rest of you—back to work."
As Eloise turned to leave, she gently touched Heather's hand.
"Don't let them tell you what you're worth," she whispered.
⸻
The drawing room was quiet, save for low voices and the ticking of a longcase clock. Eloise paused at the tall wooden doors, straightened her spine, and knocked.
She stepped inside.
The moment her gaze rose, she saw him.
Lord Asher.
He sat apart from the others, half-draped in shadow, legs crossed, a tea cup untouched in front of him. His dark eyes met hers instantly—flat, unreadable, like ink in moonlight. His black hair was slicked back, and his expression was carved from ice.
He was beautiful.
Unreal, almost. Dangerous.
"Your tea is here, Lord Asher," her aunt Raquel simpered, her voice high and sweet.
Eloise walked forward, unable to stop staring. There was something about him—something ancient, maybe. Cold. Untamed.
She barely heard her aunt's next words.
"Are you deaf, Eloise?" Raquel snapped.
"I—I'm sorry, aunt-lady," Eloise murmured, setting the tray down.
She poured the tea, hands steady even though her pulse wasn't.
Two guests. The second man offered her a polite smile. Lord Asher said nothing. But his gaze hadn't left her since she walked in.
"I do apologize, my lord," Raquel said with an exaggerated laugh. "She's quite hopeless, but I suppose I've grown soft."
Lord Asher looked at her flatly.
"One must have discipline to teach it, Raquel."
The smile slipped from her face, only for her to replace it moments later.
Eloise handed him his cup. His fingers brushed hers—cool, firm.
She turned, served the second guest, then Raquel.
"You'll be paid in full after the wedding," Lord Asher said smoothly. "Just make sure your chaos doesn't reach the palace. The king has no patience for amateurs."
Raquel's smile wavered. "Of course, my lord. I assure you, everything will be flawless."
"That would be a first," he murmured, standing.
And with that, Lord Asher walked past Eloise, without a second glance.
But her heart was still racing.